


A Matter of Time

by Regency



Category: Holby City
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12695994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: Elinor Adrienne Campbell dies at 3:07 pm, 21 years and 51 weeks after she is born, to the minute. Serena’s choice. Those numbers are with her ever after. Ficlet.





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/gifts).



Serena is stretching an arm over Bernie’s stomach to hug her all the way round when Bernie sees them, the tiny black characters inscribed in the crook of her arm.

_3:07 pm._

Bernie would recognize those numbers anyplace now.

Elinor Adrienne Campbell died 21 years and 51 weeks after she was born, to the minute. Serena’s choice.

Elinor had been a thoughtless stranger in the grand scheme of things, but she had also been Serena’s and that made her vital. Her absence was felt on the ward despite the brevity and rarity of her presence. Her absence at home was the elephant in every room they were in together. Here in France, Serena pushes through it, laughs through it, embraces Bernie and Jason through it, and so they embrace her in return.  That’s what love does, fills in the empty spaces in broken hearts and scars over those wounds that can’t properly be healed with time. They love Serena enough to love the memory of Elinor as they never grew to love the girl herself. Better than she might have someday learned to love them.

Bernie traces the time stamp tattooed inside Serena’s left elbow. She hadn’t noticed it when she undressed Serena on their first night together at the vineyard. All she’d wanted was to touch and taste, to remind her body how it felt to love Serena’s body. She loves it,  _her_  even more for the reminder.

“You could have said.”

“I wasn’t ready to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

Serena makes herself small and huddles up under Bernie’s chin to hide her face. She picks at Bernie’s vest as Bernie strokes her hair. It’s short, soft and clean, shot through with silvery grey.

“She wasn’t very nice, my girl, but she was mine, from me,  _of_ me.  She was my little girl and she’s gone. This way I never forget and when it hurts to think of how far away from she’s wandered, I can touch this, and if I imagine hard enough, I can feel her again. It’s all I have of her now.”

“It’s good to have that if you need it. But Serena, your memories aren’t gone.”

“Sometimes I wish they were.” Her voice betrays her, and her tears wet Bernie’s shoulder.

Bernie shushes her with a kiss to her crown.  “Only because it’s fresh. Someday you’ll be scrambling to bring it all to mind. I was when I lost my mum as a girl. I don’t have her things anymore, but I’ll always remember what it was for her to hold me and soothe me with a song.  Hold fast to dreams, Serena.”

“I never took you for a Langston Hughes fan.”

“A girl’s got to have her hobbies. Can’t be all butchery all the time.”

Serena giggles into Bernie’s tear-sodden vest, and Bernie is overcome by how unbearably much she loves this heartbroken woman. This part, the sharing of old grief isn’t even the worst of it, being without Serena for all those months was the worst.  Bernie can do this, lay herself open for Serena to touch and know, if it means never doing without her again.  

It’s an epiphany that terrifies her and invigorates her.  _There is almost nothing I wouldn’t do for you_ , she thinks of Serena, and makes that her bed to lie in _._ She strokes a hand up and down Serena’s back and vows to be with her for the rest of her days.  She’s happy to have the chance.

Serena rubs her blotchy cheeks into Bernie’s scarred chest. She’s oddly tender there, forever aware of what it means and doesn’t—she lived, she didn’t die. It doesn’t feel of much in particular, is rather numb. Serena kisses it anyway. Serena loves all Bernie’s scars as Bernie loves  _all_  of Serena, scars and all. The new wounds are just new pieces to love.

Serena props her chin to the right of the surgical scar, leery of causing pain, so careful not to wound anymore even if Bernie doesn’t mind.  Serena loves her. Serena came back to her. A therefore B. Simple logic. Bernie doesn’t mind. Bernie smiles softly, hums, drawing circles along Serena’s shoulder with her fingers.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Bernie asks when it’s been quiet awhile. Serena’s foot wiggles between hers at the end of the bed, bare where her own are socked. Serena is forever complaining about her cold toes. Bernie’s missed her warm ones.

“Thinking.”

“That’s what one usually does. What’s on your mind?”

“What comes next.” Serena enmeshes her fingers with Bernie’s over her shoulder.  Bernie gets the subtlest thrill at how well they still tangle. Reuniting with Serena is learning all their little patterns anew, each of them precious.

“What’s the prognosis, Ms. Campbell?” Serena’s eyes are clouded but no more troubled than yesterday, and clearer than that terrible January afternoon. Perhaps as clear as they will be from now on. Clear enough.

“I’m not as aggrieved as I was.”

“Good.”

“I wish I could”—her breath catches before she can steady herself. “I wish I could say I wasn’t sad, but you’ll know if I lie and I won’t do you the insult of lying when we’re this close.”

“I’d rather you didn’t think you had to lie at all.”

Serena offers a hum of acknowledgement.  “I’m happy with you, I  _am_ , never doubt that. It’s just this one thing.” This one, enormous, life-altering  _thing_.

“You don’t owe me your happiness. I just want you to be here. If you’re unhappy, you’re unhappy. I won’t love you less for it.” Bernie still glories in the instant, reflexive quirk of Serena’s mouth when she says it. “If you’re in pain, you don’t owe it to me to hurt less for my sake. Just...don’t run away from help when you need it.” She squeezes Serena’s fingers. “Don’t bury things is what I mean. They have a funny way of unearthing themselves. The damage they can do when left unchecked...it’s not worth it, Serena. I don’t need a front, I just need you.”

Serena hums sweetly and rubs her nose under Bernie’s chin. “Funny, I need you, too.”

She must feel Bernie’s heart skip a beat because her small, pleased smile widens into a wicked little smirk that makes Bernie’s pulse sit up and take notice.  She’s lost any ability to hide what Serena does to her. She gulps, secretly gleeful to note the feeling is mutual.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

Bernie echoes her, skimming her hands over Serena’s hips as she crawls up Bernie’s body to kiss her hello again. There are many, many more kisses where the first came from. So many Bernie happily loses count.

This their new normal, and Bernie is learning to love it.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/167393247260/fic-a-matter-of-time-berena).
> 
> Author's Notes: Come squee about Berena with me on Tumblr at [sententiousandbellicose](sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, settings, or stories recognizable as being from Holby City. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun. [Title from "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story" from Hamilton.]


End file.
